Quincta was greatly alarmed at the tidings, and bade that the litter should on no account be sent. When those watching her door had been withdrawn, then a faithful slave was to announce the fact, and she and her daughter would steal home afoot. Thus passed the time, with anxiety contracting the hearts of all. Quincta was a timid woman, Baudillas, as already said, irresolute. In the afternoon, gifts began to arrive for the love‐feast. Slaves brought hampers of bread, quails, field‐fare stuffed with truffles; brown pots containing honey were also deposited by them in the passage. Others brought branches of dried raisins, apples, eggs, flasks of oil, and bouquets of spring flowers.(2) Baudillas was relieved when the stream of oblations began to flow in, as it decided for him the matter of the Agape. It must take place—it could not be deferred, as some of the food sent was perishable. A slave arrived laden with an _amphora_—a red earthenware bottle, pointed below, so that to maintain it upright it had to be planted in sand or ashes. On the side was a seal with the sacred symbol, showing that it contained wine set apart for religious usage.(3) “Sir!” said the bearer, “happy is the man who tastes of this wine from Ambrussum (near Lunel).(4) It is of the color of amber, it is old, and runs like oil. The heat of the Provence sun is gathered and stored in it, to break forth and glow in the veins, to mount into and fire the brain, and to make and kindle a furnace in the heart.” “It shall be used with discretion, Tarsius,” said the deacon. “By Bacchus!—I ask your pardon, deacon! Old habits are not easily laid aside. What was I saying? Oh—you remarked something about discretion. For my part I consider that my master has exercised none in sending this to your love‐feast. Bah! it is casting pearls before swine to pour out this precious essence into the cups of such a beggarly, vagabond set as assemble here. The quality folk are becoming weary of these banquets and hold aloof.” “That is sadly true,” observed Baudillas, “and the effect of this withdrawal is that it aggravates the difficulties of myself and my brethren.” “The choice liquor is thrown away on such as you have as congregation. How can they relish the Ambrussian if they have not had their palates educated to know good liquor from bad? On my faith as a Christian! were I master instead of slave, I would send you the wine of the year when Sosius Falco and Julius Clarus were consuls—then the grapes mildewed in the bunch, and the wine is naught but vinegar, no color, no bouquet, no substance. Gentlemen and slaves can’t drink it. But I reckon that my master thinks to condone his absence by sending one of his choicest flasks.” “You are somewhat free of tongue, Tarsius.”